Mentioned: Demonica
Appearances By: Demonica


Grace Under Fire
Who The Fuck Lives In Indiana?


The trial was over. Thank god. But the war wasn’t finished. Boo. I walked out to my car in the parking lot of the courthouse, still dressed in my deep purple suit. My partner in crime and her lover had gone off to get ready to leave Pittsburgh. The sooner we got out, the better. We were innocent and currently talking to our lawyer about suing Francine for deprivation of character. Ha ha.

I’d gotten to my car and was sifting through my purse for keys. I didn’t normally have purses, but since when did dress skirts have pockets? Of course, they never had. How silly of me to be anti-purse. I was being video recorded. My lawyer, doing one of the most brilliant things ever, had told the press that he would be releasing a comment and that myself and Demonica were not speaking to the presses just yet.

It was then I felt it. Something cold, metal and heavy slapped against my thigh. As I went down to my knees, feeling them become scraped against the gravel parking lot, tearing my nylons as well as my skin. I could feel blood running down my knees and pooling against the ground. I sneered, my hand latching over where I’d been hit. I looked up and there was Francine Fern, standing over me with a crowbar in hand.

“Fuckin’ psycho,” I growled angrily, standing up, though my leg felt like jelly. I leaned on the other one, glaring down at her. I could see fear flash through her eyes. No doubt, she hadn’t expected me to get up again, and to be perfectly honest, I hadn’t expected me to, either. I took a limping step towards her. The crowbar was sent out again but I managed to stop it with both my hands; already feeling a bruise forming in both my leg and palms.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion, as if we were moving in water. I threw away the crowbar after jerking it from Fern’s hands. The press had crowded around, though stayed out of reach of a foreign object. Francine stumbled back, nearly falling off of her high heels. A few cops broke up the fight before I even laid a finger on her. Two of them took Francine away, who was screaming at the tops of her lungs and flailing her limbs. One cop told the media to leave, before turning back to me, asking if I was okay. This was not a good week.

I muttered I was fine before getting into my car and driving away. At a stop light, I hiked up my skirt to check the wound. It was all shades of brown, black, blue and purple, as well as where the skin had been broken in the middle of the welt. My knees were bloody, staining my ‘nude’-coloured nylons. The blood gathered at the backs of my knees before dripping down onto the floor mat beneath my feet. Fuck. Looks like another thing I can take to court against her. Boo, no more court.

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We were out of Pittsburgh, finally. I had wanted to go to my hotel in Ottawa to do a little ‘R&R’ with the hot lifeguard. Maybe he would have done a little ‘first aid’ on my leg. However, Demonica insisted I come and see her new place in Indiana, so how could I resist. Who the fuck lives in Indiana, these days?

I lay on the floor on a sleeping bag in my version of pyjamas: a pair of black jeans that were cut-off to look almost like hot-pants and a black sports bra. An ashtray lay on my stomach, a cigarette smouldering there quietly. In my other hand was a bottle of beer. My black tendrils were loose, curling around my shoulders and fanned out around my sleeping bag.Flying Horse Beer. Who the fuck thought that name up?

I had a thick icepack taped to my thigh over the large bruise. The bruise was nearly six inches long and three inches wide. My knees were also stitched up. I had to have bits of gravel removed. Oh, that was fun. Yeah, more like fucking painful!!!

Demonica sat beside me, dressed in a pair of black slacks that looked to be made of satin. This was played down by the white beater she wore on top. She almost disappeared in the shirt, since she wasn’t wearing makeup.

“It's not the greatest celebration but it'll do.” She said. I laughed a bit, taking a pull from my cigarette before tapping the used ashes over the tray. I put the ashtray on the floor and sat up, my leg still stretched out. It didn’t hurt right now, but I knew that if I moved it, it would. I took a swallow of the beer, clicking my tongue against my palette. I’d never been one for beer, but whatever. Alcohol is alcohol.

“Hey man, let’s order a pizza, then it’ll be a celebration.” I laughed a bit, a bit of a smirk coming to my lips. “Or maybe some Chippendales. Say, where’s Necron when ya need him?” I smiled. Okay, so the painkillers made me a little stupid. And it probably wasn’t helping that I was drinking. Oh well. Demonica laughed faintly.

“Maybe I will order us a pizza, but under one condition. We don't play with the delivery boy. We just won our innocence in court and for once I'm not in the mood to do all this again. If we decide to play tonight it's just us since Necron led the press far away from here.” At this, I pouted faintly, crossing my arms over my chest.

“But what if he wants to play, Demmy?” I laughed at the thought. Yeah… right. Who the hell would play with Demonica and me in their sane minds, right after we just got off of charges based on sodomy? I caught her looking at the welts, stitches and crusted blood on my legs, not entirely blaming her.

“How's your leg? I can't believe that bitch Francine attacked you.” I shrugged my shoulders faintly, pulling up the icepack to show off the lovely, substantial bruise on my thigh. There were about four stitches in either knee from where the sharp gravel had cut me.

“If I wasn’t stoked on Advil, it would hurt like a mother fucker.” I said unenthusiastically. Cautiously, with as little bending as possible, I got to my feet, moving over to the refrigerator to put the icepack away and get a new one. I grasped the telephone and gazed down at Demonica, smirking. It had just sunk in what she had said about playing and how it was just the two of us.

“What do ya want on your pizza? I’m buying.” I said, moving back to the sleeping bags, though not sitting down.

“Green olives and bacon. Not Canadian bacon. Real bacon.” She replied. I was a bit taken back by the hastiness of her response, but otherwise, there was no issue. I saluted her as I smirked. I remembered the arguments we’d gotten into at Denny’s with the waiter when he brought in Canadian bacon. Were I normal, I would have been embarrassed for everyone. But instead, I just drank my coffee, ate my trucker breakfast and just laughed.

“All righty then.” I replied, dialling the number and waiting for a reply. I ordered to large pizzas; one with green olives and real bacon, the other with mushrooms, pepperoni, roast chicken, double cheese, pineapples and all the types of bacon. Once I’d ordered, I went to my duffle bag and grabbed my wallet, giving it to Demonica.

“Once I sit down, I’m not getting back up again unless I absolutely have to.” I muttered. I didn’t like being helpless or having to ask for help. It just wasn’t me. I slowly sat down. I knew full well that Demonica knew the way I was and how I hated help, but at least she didn’t bring it up.

“Yes, mother.” She said. I poked my tongue out at her as I stretched out my lap, dropping the icepack onto the bruise. I let out a little squeak from the coldness before settling into it. I leaned back against my pillow, staring at the ceiling.

“Shut your mouth, Woman. Don’t make me get out the crowbar and make you suck it, too.” I said with a laugh. I lolled a bit to my side, resting my cheek against my pillow.

“Right. You just lay down there killer. This place came with a towel rack.” I smiled broadly, batting my eyelashes at her in a fake-flirty motion while holding back a bit of a chuckle. I watch her get up and pace around impatiently. She needed to be more Zen: one with herself. Yeah, like I could talk.

“Play nice with the cripple.” I ordered mockingly, giving Demonica a little flick at her knee when she sat down again.
“It’ll be hear in like… fifteen minutes.” I added, now that I thought of it. I shrugged my shoulders as I curled up on my sleeping bag, blindly reaching for my lighter and cigarettes. I lit one in silence, closing my eyes. Drugs plus alcohol equals sleepy. My eyes opened a few seconds after, watching Demonica curl down. The smell of another cigarette filled my nostrils. Which reminded me I still had one lit between my fingers.

My head lifted lethargically when I heard the doorbell ring. I reached over and prodded Demonica in the side, whimpering falsely. I gave her a puppy dog face: pouted lips and wide eyes. The cute look was soon broken by me dragging off my cigarette. Demonica gets to her feet, heading for the door but not before she slaps my ass. I smirk a bit, turning my head to the side watch her. I waited for the door to open before I spoke.

“Oh baby! Do it harder!” I let a smirk coil on my lips a bit as the pizza guy peeked inside at me, lying there pathetically. I made a kissing motion at him, before winking.

“Keep the change,” Demonica said as she slammed the door in his face, nearly knocking his glasses off. I watched her bring the pizzas over as I sat up fully, hunching over, rubbing my leg with the heel of my palm. I popped open the box and dove in ravenously. Most of the toppings fell off of the pizza, so I ended up just picking them off before actually eating the pizza part.


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